Domesticity in the Margins
by SnubNosedSilhouette
Summary: "Is it always like this?" Rory asked after a minute, still facedown on the table. "Like what?" Amy replied, confused. "Like, stumbling into a dangerous adventure, fighting off evildoers, watching people get killed, saving the day, and then coming back here to have a cup of tea before bed?"


The TARDIS had a kitchen. Not that this fact should have come as a surprise—in theory, Rory understood that the separate dimension which constituted the ship's interior was likely large enough to contain the entire village of Leadworth and more besides—but it still gave him a jolt when Amy took his hand and led him out of the console room into a corridor longer even than any they had at the hospital. A half dozen turns and twists later, she stopped and opened a door that looked identical to twenty or thirty others they had just passed ("You wouldn't _believe _what I found in that one" she'd said, pointing at a door across the hall and shuddering) to find a small, cozy kitchen outfitted with what appeared to be a 19th century pump faucet, a mid-century pie chest, and an intimidating contraption that Amy claimed was a combination oven, stovetop, and refrigerator from the 24th century.

"Would you put the kettle on?" she asked, waving toward the countertop before turning toward the cabinets in search of mugs.

Spotting an electric kettle eerily identical to the one he remembered from his gran's kitchen, Rory filled it and hit the "on" switch. Amy was still attempting to locate the mugs, and Rory felt a sudden awkwardness settle over him. _I don't belong here_, he thought, wiping a hand over his face.

Amy was clearly still exhilarated from their adventure in Venice, and she bounced on her toes as she poked through the cupboard, dancing to the beat of her adrenalin-fueled heart. A heart, he was beginning to realize, that might not have room enough for him and the future they'd planned together anymore, now that the Doctor and the TARDIS had entered her real life as well as her fantasy one.

This place… it was all at once welcoming and unnervingly alien. Back in the console room, where Rory had been afraid to touch anything lest he blow them up or send them back to the Cretaceous, the lights had been warm and bright and the whimsical controls had looked more like a toymaker's dream than anything else, but in the Doctor's eyes Rory had seen a lurking hardness that convinced him that he wasn't going to be welcome for long.

He wondered how long it would take before his invitation was revoked.

He wondered if Amy would come with him when he left.

"Found them!" Amy chirped, holding up two colorful mugs bearing "Love from Blackpool!" logos just as the water came to a boil. The tea itself, which neither looked nor smelled like any tea Rory had seen before, was thankfully already set out on the counter, and Rory found himself going through the motions of setting a pot to steep before he settled into one of the comfortable wooden chairs across from Amy as if they were back at home. The combination of utterly alien and completely domestic experiences coalesced into a throbbing pressure behind his eyes, and Rory sank his head down onto the wooden table.

"You all right?" Amy asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, just…give me a minute." He scratched lightly at the grain of the wood, wondering if he could possibly get a good enough grip on it to stop the sensation that his life was unraveling around him.

Amy didn't speak again, but he could hear the sound of her feet tapping against the linoleum floor (_Really?_ he thought, unsure if he was directing his question to the Doctor or the ship itself. _Linoleum? You have access to all of time and space, and you went with linoleum?_) and a soft splash as she poured tea into her cup.

"Is it always like this?" he asked after a minute, still facedown on the table.

"Like what?" she replied, confused.

"Like, stumbling into a dangerous adventure, fighting off evildoers, watching people get killed, saving the day, and then coming back here to have a cup of tea before bed?" Rory sat up again, and watched Amy's face carefully as she formulated a reply.

"It's, well… yeah, I suppose it is. I mean, the Doctor swears that sometimes nobody dies, and sometimes we'll go places and nothing at all dangerous will happen, but mostly it's pretty much like today. Well, not the vampire bit. That was new."

"Right," Rory reached for the pot and poured himself a cup. For alien tea, it smelled wonderful.

"Is that okay?" Amy asked hesitantly, and for the first time since they'd left Venice Rory looked into her eyes. He saw hesitation and concern—for him? For herself?

"If it isn't?" he asked, fairly certain of his own answer, but needing her to clarify her own feelings before he committed to his own.

"I… you seemed so excited earlier when I asked you to stay. Weren't you? Are you having second thoughts?"

"If I were. _If _I were, Amy, would it matter? Would you stay?" He took her hands in his own and looked as intently into her eyes as he'd done the day he proposed. "If I made you, would you choose me or him?"

Amy shook her head. "Don't ask me that, Rory. Don't ask. Just stay, okay? Stay with me."

Rory didn't know what to say. It was hardly a shock that she wouldn't answer the question. It would hardly have been a shock if she had. He knew she wouldn't leave this place — leave the Doctor — even if he did. So where did that leave him? Where did it leave _them_? Because _them _was sort of supposed to be the point here, wasn't it? How could there be a _them _when she'd just all but said that she wanted a life with another man (and him) more than she wanted a life with just Rory?

But, then again, she hadn't answered. She hadn't been willing to put into words the feelings she knew would hurt him. She asked him not to leave her. Even if she was willing to leave him, she didn't want him to leave her, and that had to count for something.

"Okay," he said softly, "I'll stay."


End file.
